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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866139">we'll be a fine line | minishaw oneshots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedvst/pseuds/spacedvst'>spacedvst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Ultimate Sidemen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but the sidemen help), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama &amp; Romance, Fluff, Gay Panic, Harry Has Issues, Harry Lewis Has Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot Collection, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Self-Discovery, Sexuality Crisis, Sidemen, Simon Is Insecure, YouTube, jj is actually helpful, josh bradley is the dad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:54:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedvst/pseuds/spacedvst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“why’re you laughing?” simon quizzed, an ironic smile reaching his own face. the boy’s green eyes creased as he covered his mouth, another giggle leaving his lips. </p>
<p>“need to laugh, or else i’ll cry.”</p>
<p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p>
<p>minishaw oneshots ranging from fluff to angst. also named “outer space” on wattpad @spacedvst !</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Lewis/Simon Minter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. one. money</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>in which harry doesn’t think he has a problem anymore, but simon thinks differently. </p>
<p>TRIGGER WARNINGS: symptoms of alcohol &amp; drug addiction, drug use, self-destructive behaviour, self-deprecation, violence, guilt. </p>
<p>title inspired by the song “money” by 5SOS</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>harry wouldn’t say he had a <em>problem</em>. he just liked to party; he could handle more drink in his system than his friends could; he became numb to the burn in his nostrils after a few lines. it wasn't as if harry <em>depended</em> on alcohol or drugs, of course not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon would say differently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he knew from the get-go that going to the club with the sidemen and the cals was a mistake. harry had sworn off of any substance for the past three months – passing up on parties, having water with his meals, chewing gum to take his mind off of things – he was doing so <em>well</em>. and simon was so supportive of him, too: he would give his boyfriend a sticker for every week he avoided his guilty pleasures (it may be childish to anyone else, but harry took pride in crusading around their flat with a golden star on his chest each sunday).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>harry was doing so well until that fucking party. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>being the designated driver was actually a relief to simon. he could have a good laugh at his friends bouncing off the walls and keep a keen eye on his boyfriend from a safe distance. it also meant tobi and lux weren't so alone, being the other two chaperones of the party. the three of them eased into a booth and squabbled over <em>gin rummy</em>, all the while watching jj pounce around with ethan in tow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"it's called dancing, simon, you should tr–<em>yyy</em> it sometime!" jj hollered in between heavy gulps of a frozen daiquiri, as josh and ethan counted down from eight. the younger man's dark features contorted and squeezed into something simon's mother would call 'lemon face' when he was younger. "ah, fuck, brainfreeze!" his best friend screeched, abandoning the delicate glass and plugging his ears. as if that helps, simon chuckled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he seemed to have lost harry ten minutes ago, after the boy had excused himself to the bathroom and never returned. simon supposed he should have gone to search for him by now, but he was too pumped full of adrenaline to notice and just needed to annihilate lux's winning streak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon should have known. he should have known something was wrong. he shouldn't have avoided the anxious pit at the bottom of his gut.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>as if on cue, right after lux had finally lost a game (to tobi, not simon, unfortunately), freezy came bursting through a crowd of people. the man had to contort his torso sideways in order to shuffle past everyone, and he drunkenly tripped over his shoelace once he surfaced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          "<em>simon!</em>" he cried, almost appearing sober thanks to the look of pure dread on his face. the blonde tripped once again and leaned on the trio's card table for support, nails digging into simon's seven of spades. maybe it was a motherly instinct, or a boyfriend-ly instinct, or whatever, but simon just <em>knew</em> harry was in trouble. his bare calves were stuck to the leather booth with his cold sweat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          "what's happened? where is he?" the taller ordered, voice surprisingly straightforward in contrast to the tornado of thoughts spinning around his brain. <em>harry in trouble, harry hurt, harry lost, harry in a fight, <strong>harry</strong></em>, the words wove like a needle and threat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"he's hammered, lad! i thought he wasn't on the drink anymore? and i thought i saw him sorting a line, but i couldn't get close enough–"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>that was enough for simon. extremely thankful for his longer legs in that moment in time, he let cal lead the way towards a table in the very corner of the club. god, how it reeked. if simon thought his table was bad, he didn't know the half of it. the stench of weed snuck right up his nose and he was sure it would take multiple washes for the smoke to leave his clothes. simon almost lost freezy in the group of people crowding the table, but he felt a cool palm grip onto his wrist and pull him forward so he could finally get a good look at harry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...oh, fuck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>there was a clear way of knowing when harry was drunk, simon had learned, and that was if he was mingling or not. in sobriety, harry lewis was an awkward boy who couldn't carry a conversation with strangers for the life of him; drunk harry, however, made more friends than simon could count on his fingers and toes. and, now, harry was sat amongst men and women simon hadn't ever seen in his life, <em>snorting a fucking line</em>. the empty shot glasses and pints resting beside his shaky hand highlighted just how far gone harry was. once the younger boy inhaled the thin stripe of white powder, faster than light itself, simon noted, enough was enough. something had to be done.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>feather-footed, he gently took his boyfriend's trembling hand (likely thanks to the sharp contrast from months of withdrawal to being high as a cloud) as cal attempted to disperse the culmination of drunken cheerleaders. who were they to egg on harry like that? they didn't know what his boy had been through. simon almost scowled at the thought of sober harry being dragged into the eyes of that crowd; handed drinks and drugs; people chanting <em>go on</em>. but simon only smiled wistfully, running his free hand through harry's wet hair (he didn't even want to question that one).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>harry's head snapped upwards and he grinned from ear to ear, completely enraptured by the sight of a familiar face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          "<em>si</em>-mon!" he sang, batting his eyelashes slowly as if registering who was actually before him. the elder took a moment to sigh at harry's blown-out pupils, how they changed in size by the second. they could be seen clear as day even under the deep purple hue of the lights. this would take a lot of healing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"it's simon, babe. harry, what day is it today?" harry could only chew his lip in thought, eyes darting everywhere but simon's own: of course he felt guilty, where would his golden star be when he got home? was it even sunday? no, friday. tuesday?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon shook his head at the silence, taking harry by the hips and guiding him out of his seat. freezy had succeeded in moving the group away from harry's table, but there was still a maze of sweaty bodies to slip through in order to leave. "harry, sweetheart, we're going home now," simon concluded, and he would not be taking any form of no for an answer. how could simon have been so stupid? taking his boyfriend – who was recovering from a drug and alcohol addiction – to a fucking club. stupid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>cal advanced towards the pair with a sympathetic look. "si, if there's anything i can do..." simon almost laughed. if cal knew just what harry was like once he got home he would run for the hills. harry lived with the cals in his younger years, when he was still new to drinking and saw it as an occasion instead of an opportunity. simon wouldn't ever blame anyone but himself and harry for the boy's addiction, but the sidemen liked to frequent parties; in their prime, there were more drunk days than there were sober ones. that's when harry built his tolerance. he smashed a glass against the wall one time after being forced home, and simon cradled him as he begged for just another drink. <em>just one more</em>, the words echoed in the elder's mind. it was always just one more, then one more after that, then one for the road. how did his boy fall so far without anyone seeing?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>what?</em> i don't wanna go <em>home</em>, si. don't wanna go home," harry muttered, placing a hand on his boyfriend's chest and puckering his bottom lip. simon couldn't look at his puppy eyes; they were like hypnotic spirals. all simon could do was walk, clutching his boyfriend's hand and apologising as the boy dragged his heels and called him a spoilsport.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>another feature of drunk harry was his recklessness. he seemed to discard any self-preservation and switch off his brain. harry was a smart boy, simon knew that, but he had less common sense at times. he had to put the car on childlock after harry tried to open the passenger door in the middle of the motorway.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>there were countless times simon wanted to scream, at harry or in general, just to let out his stress. just to let harry know that he was hurting, too. that harry was hurting simon by hurting himself. but one of them had to be strong; harry wasn't in the right mind to care for himself. simon could set his own feelings on the back-burner for a week or two if it meant getting his boy back on track. he was more important.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>harry drowsily draped over simon's chest as the taller carried him to the bathroom and, for a moment, simon hoped that this would be a settled night. one of the times where harry would just fall asleep and wake up clueless in the morning. (was it selfish of him to hope for that?) after sitting the boy on the edge of the bathtub and instructing for him to <em>stay. there.</em>, simon raced to the kitchen for a glass of water. he could only pray that harry would actually accept it, instead of dunking it in the bath or spilling it over simon's trousers as he had done countless times before. but simon was hopeful. he was always hopeful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon's heart plummeted when he reentered their bathroom. harry was perched on the footstool, raking through the uppermost cabinet. "simon, where's it?" he slurred under his breath, trembling hands moving a mile a minute. "where <em>is</em> it simon?!" he seethed, dilated eyes boring into simon's woeful ones. "where's what, baby?" he replied, softly. he didn't want to upset harry at all; that either went in a violent or emotional direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>coke</em>, si. put it here ages ago, where is it?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon remembered that so clearly. the very first time harry did drugs, he was hooked onto the feeling for days. after a week of craving, he had convinced some random in southern london to sell him a kilo and harry hid it in the medicine cabinet. but, with simon's height, nothing stayed hidden for too long. they had argued for hours on end, he remembered, and they both cried enough to fill a river. harry held simon for so long, apologising so many times and saying he wouldn't ever do drugs again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>back then, simon didn't know 'never again' actually meant 'two weeks later'.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"that was so long ago, baby. we chucked it out, don't you remember? come here, angel."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>as soon as simon shut the cabinet door, so gently, harry burst into tears (so it was going to be an emotional night, not a violent one). the taller found the smaller boy in his arms, clinging to him for dear life. the 'just one drink' mantra began spilling out of harry's mouth, but simon had learned to tune it out by now. never had he ever actually given in to that trick, and he never would. simon knew better. all harry really needed was closure, to be held and told it would be alright, so that's what simon always did. they sat together in the bathtub while harry drank what felt like gallons of water, and they waited for everything to be alright.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>there were so many warning signs in the past that simon couldn't see, that or he blatantly ignored them. he recalled booking the both of them into a malibu hotel for their second anniversary and marvelling at the size, the decor, the view, while harry was enthralled by the liquor cabinet. that was when simon began to wonder if his boyfriend really had as bad of a problem as everyone joked about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>was it simon's fault? had he driven his boy so far away that the only solution for his solitude was alcohol and drugs? all those times people had called simon dull or talentless, did harry see him through that tint of glass? did he feel too trapped to leave simon? too pitying? was simon the one with a problem? maybe he was being too protective, too sensitive. maybe what harry did was normal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"simon." a small whimper came from below his chin and sliced through his heavy thoughts. dragging his eyes downward hesitantly, he was met with hazel eyes that held too much for a twenty-three year old to be bearing. fear, concern, confusion, <em>guilt</em>. that was when simon knew his boy was back home. "i'm here," simon assured, heaving out the breath he didn't know he was keeping. the real harry was back, <em>his</em> harry. not the harry kept in the tight clutch of a monstrous mindset. <em>his</em> <em>harry</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"never gonna drink again, 'm sorry," harry whispered, twisting as much as the bathtub would allow and hugging his boyfriend's torso. simon almost faltered, but he knew better. harry lied without knowing. instead of giving in, simon just kissed the crown of his baby's head and heard him let out a soft sob. he held harry impossibly closer until the boy fell asleep between his legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon didn't like it when harry drank.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. two. invisible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“come here,” harry whispered, closing the mere two inch gap between the pair. he smelled just like sweet pea and vanilla, felt like a warm blanket on a december morning, sounded like the swell of an orchestra. </p>
<p>simon noticed, as he slipped his cool hands around harry’s waist, that they always seemed to complete each other.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in which the hate online is really catching up to simon, and harry is the only one who really notices. </p>
<p>TRIGGER WARNINGS: not many, pretty fluffy!! insecurity, self-deprecation, hate, cursing, simon is upset n harry gives him a cuddle :,)</p>
<p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p>
<p>title is inspired by “invisible” by 5SOS</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>who ever came up with the idea of reading hateful opinions as a form of entertainment? whoever it was, simon hated them with a passion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>after finishing up the filming of the third <em>sidemen read mean comments</em> video in the series (and simon hoped to god there wouldn't be any more), the words had begun to seep deep under his skin. they flowed through his system, turning his blood into a foul, poisonous green. <em>boring, untalented, unloved</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>don't get simon wrong, over the years, he had learned to handle hate with ease. but outrunning hatred was a lifelong marathon, and it would have to overtake at some point if simon were to keep his pace. even though men of the purest steel would crack under the pressure of <em>so many eyes</em>, watching him, all the time. everything came with a pinch of salt. youtube packed kilograms of the stuff.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon had always hoped he would leave the earth with a good name. he would leave an impression on the world, his own footprint, at least for a little while. he had hoped people would remember that simon minter was charitable, joyful, decent at least. currently, that impression on the world seemed to be <em>useless, annoying, ugly. he brings nothing to the sidemen. the sidemen would be so much better without simon.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>being strong for the sake of others was a trait set deep beneath simon's bones. things had always been that way: he never cried in front of his friends, never yelled, never complained. maybe he was just scared of the attention he would receive if he was anything less than okay – scared of how things would change if simon appeared sensitive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>jj would carefully calculate every one of his sentences in fear of bruising him; josh's warm smiles would become full of pity; tobi's hugs would last a little longer, have more hidden meaning; ethan would walk on eggshells around simon, acting as though he were a china doll; vik might go all 'psychoanalyst' on him; and harry. . .</p>
<p> </p>
<p>well, harry could leave him. and if harry left, then so did simon's entire world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>so, simon tucked all of his emotions in his back pocket until he got home. as he left jj's flat, he blamed his watery eyes on hayfever, which seemed to rest easy. simon had become quite a good liar, he supposed, but it wasn't hard to say <em>i'm fine</em> after drilling it into your brain for years. the boys each waved him goodbye, and oh how simon envied the grins on their faces. harry trailed behind simon like a little duckling, draping his coat over his shoulders and smiling like an idiot at something ethan had hollered on their way out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>simon only hoped harry believed his lies as much as everyone else did.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>he didn’t. harry lewis would say that he knew every inch of simon minter by heart: he could recognise what ticked him off, what scared him, he could notice how simon's eyes brightened when he was full of passion. but that meant he could also notice how they turned a dull shade of seawater when he was down in the dumps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>when harry spotted those familiar ocean tides in his boyfriend's eyes, he knew something was wrong. in fairness, harry knew something was wrong hours ago. he almost shuddered at the memory of simon's cheeky smile gradually fading into an uncomfortable seethe as he plowed through comment after comment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>but simon always laughed things off, always said things were fine when they weren't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(or at least he tried to. even when his lips trembled and sobs clawed their way up his throat in the dead of night, simon assured himself that everything was <em>fine</em>.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>harry's brow creased as he observed from the kitchen. simon's demeanour flipped from the second he shuffled through the front door, all slumped and devoid of interest. the lanky man heaved himself to the couch before falling with a little <em>thump</em>. his lengthy body moulded against a large, particularly fluffy cushion that he occasionally squeezed for comfort. harry's lower lip puckered and arms folded. had those comments hurt his boy <em>that</em> much?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>for simon, everything was too much, because he wasn't enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>'sidemen' was quite a literal name for their channel, but jj had latched onto it as soon as it left simon's mouth. he had been the one to name their group, near at the end of high school when being second-best was still a privilege. nowadays, everything was so competitive – if simon wasn't the best, he was the worst. he was the very definition of a sideman and, only now, simon realised he always had been. head stuffed into the cushion, he wondered if he would always be a sideman. would people remember him as <em>ksi's friend, that tall guy from the sidemen</em>? had he ruined his own chances?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>stop being so selfish</em>, chided his conscience, <em>millions of people would walk to the ends of earth for what you have</em>. things weren't so bad, were they? simon had six amazing best friends, one out-of-this-world boyfriend. he almost hit himself for taking such for granted. yet those hate comments still circled his brain like vultures: <em>hideous, boring, fairy, second best, the sidemen don't want you, <strong>harry</strong> doesn't want you</em>. fuck, why were brains impossible to switch off? simon shoved his head further into the plush material, the fluff tickling his cheeks and bringing him some sense of comfort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>harry let out a heartfelt sigh, lifting the pot of uncooked pasta from the hob – he had far more important things to face right now. a little less gracefully than simon, he too wordlessly flopped onto the couch right beside his boyfriend. fingers instantly glued onto simon's hair, drawn to it like a magnet. he began subconsciously braiding the longest strands together (having a younger sister proved quite useful, it turned out). simon almost felt embarrassed. he wasn't supposed to be the one in need. he was older, he was meant to know how to handle himself. those comments online rang true: why couldn't he do anything right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          "harry," simon began, eyes lifting to take a long look at the younger. he looked so peaceful, tongue poking out between his lips in concentration as his teal eyes narrowed. at his remark, harry only hushed him, leaning down to plant a peck at his hairline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          "you're beautiful," harry commented nonchalantly, selecting his next section of hair to braid. "stop, don't," simon tried, squirming away from his boy's gentle hold. "and you're so talented. not sure where i'd be without you, you know?" he continued, ignoring simon's protest and drawing him back in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"and do you know how good you are at just... <em>everything</em>? i don't think i could name one thing the sidemen have tried that you were actually bad at. used to try and impress you <em>so hard</em>, si, wanted to be as good as you so you'd think i was cool." harry chuckled gently. his beige sweater climbed up his fingers and engulfed them as he cupped simon's face. everything was so gentle, so soft, that simon felt like crying. what on earth did he do to deserve harry lewis?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"those people don't know you like we do – like <em>i</em> do. you are so amazing; so talented; so fucking funny; so supportive; you're like sunshine... <em>my</em> sunshine," he doted with a mumble, rosy fingertips drawing ever so light shapes across simon's cheeks. "i must have done something pretty bloody great in my past life to earn you in this one." and as harry <em>boop</em>-ed the tip of simon's nose, simon's blood ran ever so beautifully warm. it seemed they shared the same thoughts about each other. everything that once was empty now filled to the brim with flowers, sunlight, pastel hues because harry made him feel so in love. nobody else mattered if harry loved him, because harry was above anyone and everyone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"come here," harry whispered, closing the mere two inch gap between the pair. he smelled just like sweet pea and vanilla, felt like a warm blanket on a december morning, sounded like the swell of an orchestra. simon noticed, as he slid his cool hands around harry's waist, that they always seemed to complete each other. where harry was warm, simon was cold; where harry was awkward, simon was exuberant; where harry was the day, simon was the night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and simon didn't feel like crying anymore now that he had the whole world in his arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"i think, when we meet the boys tomorrow, you should keep your hair like that," harry murmured into the nape of simon's neck (where he fit just so perfectly). simon tentatively raised a hand to feel the spikes of plaits in his hair. laughing warmly, he pressed a kiss onto the crown of his boy's head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"i just might, bog. anything for you."</p>
  </div></div>
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